70 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 



tents are squeezed out in the state of green pulp and 

 swallowed. 



" Varmints I call 'em, an' nothin' else," is the 

 remark my old friend makes, as he goes towards 

 the tool-house and takes from a shelf a hen haw- 

 finch and two young ones, the former probably the 

 mother of some of the birds that are about, if not, 

 indeed, of the whole brood, her plumage showing 

 that she has been sitting. 



" People wants me to git 'em full-feathered old 

 birds for stumn', but bless ye, ye might as well 

 try to ketch weasels asleep. A cock hawfinch is 

 about one o' the most artful customers as I knows 

 on. The only time to get a clip at 'em is in winter, 

 under the plum and damson trees. They gits there 

 after the stones, any amount o' stones lays jest 

 under the ground, an' they picks 'em out an' cracks 

 them easy. I gits plenty o' young ones when peas 

 are about the old ones lets 'em come, but they take 

 precious good care they don't come off the tops 

 o' the tree themselves afore they knows there ain't 

 anybody about. Some says they're scarce birds. I 

 knows they ain't leastways not when my peas are 

 ready to gather." 



